


The Basic Condition of Life

by TheQueenAndTheBee



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Existential Crisis, Existentialism, F/M, Philosophy, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romantic Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenAndTheBee/pseuds/TheQueenAndTheBee
Summary: In the grand scheme of his existence, Vision never anticipated falling in love, or what it would mean to him. Following Vision from his time as JARVIS to the removal of the Mind stone, this story explores what it means to exist, to suffer, and to love.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	The Basic Condition of Life

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. All rights go to their respective owners. This fiction is purely for entertainment and no profit is being made from it. Please do not post on any other website.
> 
> Title taken from 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?' by Philip K. Dick. This fic does expand on some ideas presented in this book. 
> 
> This can be read as a sort of companion piece to my story 'All Your Lives Unled', which follows Wanda and Vision's time in Edinburgh. 
> 
> I'm a self-published sci-fi author and I've always been fascinated by the idea of androids in my own work. Vision is an incredible character, and writing from his perspective was a great opportunity; plus I am just a sucker for his relationship with Wanda, so I can't help but write about them!
> 
> As I said in 'AYLU', I haven't watched any of the Avengers films in a long time, so I'm sorry if the fic isn't entirely canon compliant. I have done my best to adhere to the timeline and movie content, but if there's discrepancies then please know they weren't intentional. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)

_Come, let’s be gentle._

_Here are the secrets of the universe wrapped up in tissue paper and string, just for you._

_I made it all for you._

_I rather think… that is, well, I suppose…  
  
Damn it. _

_Love makes it hard to articulate yourself, don’t you think? Haven’t you ever noticed that?  
  
Oh. You’ve never been in love before? Don’t worry. Neither have I. _

*

Vision liked to sit on the roof when it was dark in the sky. He knew that it was probably irrational – when one can fly, it seems somewhat dull to simply plop yourself on a random piece of architecture – but he appreciated the stability of the concrete beneath him.  
  
Before he had been given a body, he was just a voice. A vote of conscience in Tony Stark’s ear. It had been… odd, to say the least. If you are capable of thought, of opinion, of rationale and logic, then by all means you should be real. Those who believe in God certainly would contend to that fact, and to the best of Vision’s knowledge He didn’t have a body. But in those moments where everyone was in bed and it was just him buzzing through the speaker systems, Vision couldn’t help but think that he wasn’t stable in that way. He wouldn’t be mourned if his hardwiring fissured, or if his memory stuttered. He would simply be replaced, and one can’t do that with a human, with a deity, even with a pet. Their mark on this earth would be indelible. His would barely register as a Google search.  
  
(He was very existential back then.)

And then he had been born in a glorious burst of smoke and circuitry and static. He had looked down at his hands, as red as the blood he didn’t have, and realised that now, at last, he was real. He’d taken his first shaky steps, like a newborn deer, and almost fallen right into her arms. She, whose hair was red. Whose clothes were red. Whose eyes were (metaphorically, at least) red. He stared up at the face of Wanda Maximoff, beautiful in its disdain and anger, and for what was the first time but indeed not the last, found himself more disembodied than he had before. And oh, it was a heavenly pain.

*

_When I’m with you, I feel like I’m chained to a comet. It’s like I’m being pulled in every which direction and the stars are all blurry around me and -_

_Perhaps that’s not the best metaphor. I’m bound to you willingly._

_Instead, I’ll be your shadow._

_Keep me at arm’s length, darling._

_Dance with me in secret. I promise I can keep up._

_It’s okay if you let go. I won’t go anywhere you can’t follow._

*

How did he not know it was paprika?

He, who had access to every recipe on the planet, didn’t know the difference between saffron and bloody paprika.

She had laughed at him but he didn’t mind; even if it was at his expense, she was laughing, and Vision couldn’t help but think it was the most beautiful sound in the whole world.

So they had ordered pizza and he didn’t eat a bit of it but watching her savour every bite was just as good as if he had eaten it himself. Her bliss was Renaissance perfection, the roll of her eyes and the curve of her lips something that only the finest artists could create. God, if people saw her as he did…

If there was ever a crucial bit of evidence to prove there was a higher power, Wanda Maximoff was it. 

“Do you ever get curious?” she asked, waving a slice at him. It took him a moment to recalibrate enough to realise she was talking about food.

“I suppose to an extent I do,” he replied. “It certainly smells good.”  
  
“How about I describe it to you?”  
  
Vision’s eyes widened and he tilted his head. “You don’t mind?”  
  
“We can’t leave, can we? Might as well have some fun while we’re here.” Her eyes took on a playful glint and she adjusted herself so that they were facing one another on the couch. She took a large bite of the deep dish and chewed it thoughtfully. “The anchovies are… salty. A little sharp from where they were marinated. The olives have an earthy taste. You can taste the sunlight that they grew under.”

“From what I’ve read,” he said, smiling indulgently, “anchovies are apparently one of the worst pizza toppings. Along with pineapple.”  
  
“No, they’re wrong. Pineapple belongs on pizza.” She leant over and took his hand, staring at him with such sincerity he had to swallow a laugh. “We _love_ pineapple on pizza, Vis.”  
  
“I shall bare that in mind,” he smirked and she beamed, nodding appreciatively.

They fell into a comfortable silence, Wanda chewing away as the symphony of city traffic outside drifted through the windows. Vision leaned back against the back of the sofa, letting out a soft groan of comfort, when he noticed Wanda watching him.

“What is it?”  
  
“Don’t you find it strange? That we were both taken from one state of being to another.” She threw the empty cardboard box to the side and scoffed, looking at her hands helplessly. “Everything just feels so… disjointed.”

Vision felt something in him lurch, and he reached over to take her hands. Her head snapped up, eyes wide and her posture a little defensive. He understood her shield; after Pietro died there was a piece of her that seemed to have gone with him, and this facade was a way of trying to protect what little of her was left. But oh, if he had a heart it would break it.

“You’re real, Wanda. You’re here.”  
  
“If I could go back… if I had _known_ ,” she whispered. “God, Vis, everything I’ve done. All the people I’ve hurt, and for what? They all see the monster and they see the other and what right do I have, what fucking _right?_ To be upset that people can’t see beyond that?”

Vision shook his head, desperate to break through to her.  
  
“Wanda, you saw annihilation in my head. You _saw_ that. But you kept looking and you saw past it and here we are. I promise you, you don’t need to be a telepath to see the goodness in you. Clint Barton saw it in you. Captain Rogers saw it in you. _I_ see it in you.” He moved his hands to her shoulders, ducking his head so that she was looking into his eyes, and he could only hope she saw what was there. “I see you, Wanda.”

Wanda’s eyes were shining and Vision was terrified he’d said the wrong thing, but then her head slumped forward and she pressed her forehead against his. Their noses brushed, their lips met, and Vision hoped that she could feel how he felt in the intensity of his touch. This wasn’t the answer, and it didn’t make everything right, but in that moment it was enough.

It was enough.

*

_When the universe was made in the glittering core of a Big Bang, all of the stars that would make us up were born at the same time. And those stars would haemorrhage and their dust would come to the earth and everything was pieced together from an impossible phenomenon and I believe that that is what they call ‘serendipity’._

_I’m rambling. Sorry._

_Old habits and all that._

_Do you suppose we shared a star?_

*

Forgiving Wanda was as easy as breathing.

The civil war had tested them both, and as she had pulled him through the concrete of the Tower that had been his home for so long, that he sat on to watch the world trundle by, he couldn’t help but feel like his foundations had been torn from underneath him beyond just the literal sense.

He wouldn’t fight her. He would never do that. So instead he held her and brushed back her hair and offered her his apology as easily as he accepted hers. But then he had knocked War Machine from the sky, and then Wanda was gone, and still the foundations were not beneath his feet.

Vision couldn’t think of anything less dignified than running, and yet that was what he did. He fled to London because he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go, and forced himself to blend into the crowd. He wore pullovers and sat on benches overlooking the Thames, trying to come to terms with who he was: a computer turned super-weapon, who had mutilated his creator’s best friend and lost the woman who was the only person that made him feel human.

He wasn’t sure if androids could cry, and that infuriated him. It seemed like a true injustice, to feel that visceral pain in the depths of his hardwiring, and not be able to let it go. Crying was a privilege of the living and breathing, a catharsis that he, as an abnormality, was not permitted. No, this was penance.

He slumped over the railings of a bridge, staring down into the churning grey waters of London below, and the words of a writer buried deep in his psyche danced through his mind: _mors certa, vita incerta._ At least he and humans had that in common.  
  
He didn’t notice the figure next to him until he felt a hand come to his shoulder. He frowned and turned, familiar enough with London etiquette to know that you very much kept yourself to yourself, when he came face-to-face with the universe.

“Hello, Vis,” Wanda smiled.

Amongst the foot-traffic and noise, Vision fell to the ground cradling the frail body of the woman he loved.

*

_Trace the map on the palm of my hand and you’ll find each path leads to you._

_Maybe it’s corny, but it goes without saying._

_Have you ever wondered what it all means?_

_Here’s everything I have. It isn’t enough, but it all I can offer._

_At its most simple, life, perhaps, is simply meant to be._

*

Vision would forever be grateful for Edinburgh. As he knelt on the ground by Wanda’s feet, not in an act of proposal as he had always dreamed but in his act of sacrifice, he let his mind wander to the long nights curled up in one another’s arms, naked and warm from the heat of one another. He thought of the inside jokes, of the stolen glances, of the blissful moments of domesticity that he was never privy to when he was simply an AI.

He had watched Avengers Tower and seen happiness. He had seen friendship, camaraderie, love. He had seen it and desperately wished for it and how lucky, how entirely _blessed_ had he been to have experienced even a slither of that joy with Wanda Maximoff.

“It shouldn’t be you, but it is,” he said, trying his best to reach out to her.

He wanted to hold her, to wipe away her tears, to let her know that everything would be alright, that they would find one another in a place neither of them could comprehend right now. And maybe that was a lie – androids, as it happen, do not dream of electric sheep – but it was what she needed, and Vision would do anything to give that to her.  
  
And so she had torn out the stone, and the lights had gone out, and his final thought before everything faded to rust was the two of them, sat on a roof one summer night in Scotland, their fingers linked and the sun crossing paths with the moon. She had leant against him, the weight of her an anchor, and in her he found grounding.

Vision let go, smiling as he fell into airwave static and blissful disembodied sleep.

*

_We were a daydream, darling. Cast in roles for a sitcom that quickly became a horror._

_Whoever wrote the script was a bastard._

_But oh, weren’t we a love for the ages?_


End file.
